Blue Stars Read Online Free

She let her silky robe slip off her creamy black shoulders and aimed a fierce pout right through the camera. She knew what to do. “Vanessa Williams? Eat … your … heart out!” Lacey and Martine whistled and clapped while little Felicia, in nothing but a camisole and a red lace thong, worked it with pose after pose.
    The three knew each other from the well-organized branches of a Family Readiness Group that served the army families who lived north of the city. Lacey and Edgardo lived in Mount Vernon, with Lacey’s twelve-year-old son, Otis, in a two-bedroom condo just off Gramatan. It was a long commute to Fort Hamilton in Brooklyn, where Eddie was based, but he insisted on being near his mom, who still lived in the City Island house where he grew up. Unlike the others—Martine and Felicia were well into double digits with their husbands—Eddie and Lacey had been married for less than five years, or one deployment (Iraq, Sixth Battalion, Twenty-seventh Field Artillery). In fact, they had been apart more than they’d lived together.
    That first deployment had gone by in a blur—it always does, Martine told her—but now Lacey knew what to expect. Although that, she thought, watching Felicia show off her ample curves, wasn’t necessarily a good thing.
    “Me, me, me,” Martine said and killed what champagne was left in the bottle. Felicia conceded the stage and Mart took off her shirt. “Check this out, you guys.” She motioned the photographer to come closer, and turned around. Then she tugged down her tight jeans to reveal the top of a multipart tattoo, rippling U.S. flag, dog tags, eagle. And some cursive lettering.
    “What’s that say?” Felicia asked.
    Lacey leaned forward. “‘Proud Army Wife’ … nice … what are you laughing about, Mart?”
    Martine stepped out of her jeans and there, on her bare ass cheek, was a cartoon Iraqi insurgent caught in the crosshairs, and a big red-white-and-blue smooch across his face.
    “‘Kiss My USA Ass,’” Felicia read out. “Lord, lord. Tell me that’s not on your body forever.”
    “Why? Doesn’t every girl want a little rag-head art on her behind?”
    “Martine.”
    “No, no, of course not. It’s that kind they airbrush on; it’ll be off in a few days. Thing is, I want it to be a surprise for him—for when he’s over there. Right?”
    “Yeah, so what’s the problem?”
    “Keeping him out of my pants until I can scrub this thing off!” They all cracked up.
    After the shoot, they waited while the studio assistant processed their forms. Lacey was dressed but barefoot, and Martine and Felicia wore various combinations of underwear and clothes. Outside, the winter sun had disappeared.
    “I got to go pick up my kid,” Lacey said. But she didn’t move.
    “Crap,” Martine said. “I forgot to take the chicken out to defrost. Oh well, pizza night. They’ll be—hey, what’s going on? You okay?”
    Felicia had her forehead on the heels of both hands. Tears slid down her wet cheeks. “I hate it. I hate it. I want to be strong, but God knows, each time I just hate it.”
    They rubbed her back. They told her, It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.
    “We’re pushing our luck.” She sobbed. “Third time out, second to Iraq? Deployment’s fifteen months now? How much longer before…”
    “You can’t think that way,” Martine said.
    “But it’s the numbers,” Felicia said. “The odds. Probability. It gets harder and harder to ignore!”
    Now even Martine grew serious, quiet. Lacey stood up and went behind the studio desk to the minifridge, where she took out another bottle of champagne.
    The assistant was dubious. “Actually, your package only comes with—”
    “Please. This stuff goes for five dollars a bottle.” She gestured toward Felicia’s cup. “Come on. It’s medicinal.”
    “She’s the boss.”
    Once they each had a refill, Lacey got down to business. She took out both her phone and her overstuffed day planner.